Otherwise known as, never take a nap before the grandparents have frosted your birthday cake. (Be sure to hang in until the 1:47 mark, where A begrudgingly shares with my grandma. It’s pretty much downhill from there.)

So A still isn’t talking. He’s constantly babbling, and directing his minions to do his bidding through pointing and caveman grunts, but he doesn’t say any “words.”

No mama. No dog. No ball. Nothing.

Everything is still na-na-na-na. He mimics like crazy and loves to click his tongue. Maybe he’s using sonar? Who knows. All I know is, I’m starting to get worried.

Also? Sunday is my birthday. For reasons that should be blatantly obvious, I’m not the most stoked about it this year. I am quite excited that A and I are going back to Mayberry for a few days, though, so I can spend it with my family. A will be fawned over (more than usual, even) and I will be able to lounge around, pork up, and read. Magnificent.

God it’s hard to write when everything I want to say is verboten. It’s like there’s a giant elephant in the room and he’s parked his fat butt right here on my keyboard.